


a merrier place

by SSAerial



Series: Tumblr Snippets [7]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Erebor Never Fell, Angst and Feels, Dimension Travel, Everyone is so confused by this new Thorin lol, Gen, King Thorin, POV Alternating, Repenting Thorin, Thorin is one determined dwarf, Thorin-centric, What-If, be prepared for it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-24 04:46:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16633214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SSAerial/pseuds/SSAerial
Summary: Thorin dies and wakes up in a world where Smaug was shot down by Girion, Erebor still stands, and this world’s Thorin was a straight up asshole. Eager to repent and wracked with guilt, Thorin sets out determined to change things for the better. Foreveryone.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Plot bunnies attacked me and it resulted into this. I have no idea where this came from or why I’m doing this to myself but hey, at least I have another project I can use for nano, hahaha. I hope you guys enjoy and I really don’t know if I’ll continue this, who knows by this point. Thank you and enjoy!

There was no one Frerin loathed more than King Thorin.

Thorin, who was King of Erebor. Thorin, who ascended the throne when the previous King Thráin was killed in The Battle of Moria, where Thorin defeated Azog and claimed the title Oakenshield. Cold, ruthless, dismissive Thorin who didn’t give one damn about the people of Erebor. Who let the rich grow richer and had the poorer districts suffer as corruption ran amok their very home.

It was only due to Dís’s and Frerin’s own careful interferences Erebor was still standing. It was a miracle they had any trade agreements with the Iron Mountains and other dwarven kingdoms at all, let alone other races. Thorin was too proud, too blind to the fact Erebor could not stand alone or the fact the rest of Middle-Earth existed outside his kingdom.

As the years passed, it slowly began to show.

Oh, not in obvious rampant poverty or lack of riches, but the kingdom’s fear and lack of faith in their ruler. Only famed dwarven loyalty and love for their homes made the people stay. Only the hope that Dís or Frerin would one day take the crown kept the people from leaving.

This was a dark age indeed, when the people have stopped believing in the Durin line.

So it was with guilty relief when Thorin had fallen ill to something terrible, what appeared to be incurable according to the healers. The king laid in his obstinate bed and coughed and hacked like the sun wouldn’t come, slowly weaning away his strength and voice.

How ironic, Frerin thought with viciousness, that the famed Oakenshield would fall not in battle or from the multiple assassinations that have occurred over the years, but from lying weakly in bed without even the energy to rise. Maybe Mahal did know what he was doing.

There was once a time when Frerin naively loved his brother more than anything, but those days have long passed. Thorin changed once their father died, once kingship rested on those shoulders for decades. Frerin almost wished that Thorin had gone mad like their predecessors. At least Frerin would’ve had something else to blame then, a reason to not hate his brother so. But alas, this was not the case.

And so, he gave one last courtesy to his king and stayed by his side as the sickness in its final stages took the life of Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain.

The next morning, however, proved the prince wrong. For Frerin startled awake when someone touched his shoulder, Thorin’s raspy voice saying,  _“Frerin?”_  like he was a dream, wonderment in his tone.

He looked inexplicably much better than yesterday, a bit of color in his cheeks. A sinking feeling settled in Frerin’s stomach at the sight. It was only years of practice that allowed him to not show any of his disappointment as he smoothed his expression into something more cordial. He ignored the discrepancy of Thorin’s odd address, concluding the dwarf was still out of sorts. The king usually called him Prince Frerin or simply prince. On very rare occasions did he call him brother, but it was always only to mock him.

“Your Highness,” he managed to bow from his sitting position and tried not to be obvious how tense he was at the fact Thorin was voluntarily touching him. It was uncomfortable, especially when Thorin usually hated physical contact. “I’m glad to see you have risen.”

Thorin stared at him with the strangest look on his face, blue eyes darting around Frerin’s face frantically as if he was drinking him in. There was a light in those depths that Frerin has never seen before, full of emotions that passed right through like quicksilver before finally closing, his breath stuttering as he inhaled deeply.

When he opened them, it took everything in Frerin not to gape as Thorin’s lips started to curve upward in foreign motion, the edges around his aged eyes crinkling and giving them warmth.

Thorin impossibly, inexplicably, looked happy to see him.

“Yes,” Thorin said to an absolutely frozen Frerin, “as am I, brother.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Balin stared.
> 
> This... was not what he expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuing, cause this is growing on me. Hope you like it!

Balin stared.

This… was  _not_  what he expected.

It’s been three days since Thorin miraculously rose from his, what was to be believed, deathbed, making quite remarkable strides in his road to recovery. Dwarven stoutness seemed to have won out and Balin couldn’t help the well of relief that threatened to buckle his knees the first time he heard the news.

After all, he knew Thorin since the son of Durin had been a lad, watched him grow up to become the tyrannical king the people of Middle-Earth was wary of. It broke his heart as he watched his dear friend change for the worse, especially after Moria.

At the time, Smaug’s close-call invasion made Thrór fearful at the possibility that Erebor wasn’t infallible, that they needed another stronghold just in case such calamity were ever to occur again. Privately, Balin knew the previous king’s decision was more from the gold madness, his greed underneath the thin cover of geniality and concern for his kingdom. One only had to have listened to his crazed mutterings and the way he hid away in the treasury to know it was all a farce. The king hadn’t cared one lick for his people’s safety, that was for certain.

But shaken and in want of more stability, Balin had not questioned the decision and even thought the move had some merits. He had remained vigilant of all the ways this could turn out wrong, but still had some hope this may not turn into such a disaster.

But alas, this had not been the case.

Over the last century, sometimes Balin wondered what would’ve happened if they had been successful in taking back Moria. If Thorin hadn’t been crowned king so young, turning cold and cruel in the process. He was barely recognizable from the passionate, fierce dwarf Balin had once known him to be.

Dwalin certainly didn’t share the same miniscule hopes Balin still had for their king. They’d row about it, Dwalin too scarred and hurt from losing his best friend to even think about trusting the king ever again. All that was left for the head guardsman was loyalty to the rest of the Durin line and his strong sense of duty.

Frerin and Dís probably didn’t even remember a time when Thorin had been capable of compassion. The king barely listened or cared about anyone at all, Balin’s advice and pleads falling on deaf ears.

The golden throne has turned Thorin Oakenshield heartless and Balin couldn’t help but be bitter over this fact.

So what he expected when he knocked on the king’s door before announcing himself was a booming order for him to leave. What he expected was Thorin sitting up from his bed and eyeing him with a glacial coolness that could match the elven king Thranduil. He expected a lot of things, the usual things.

This, this was not usual.

What waited for him was Thorin, prideful and disinterested in anything Thorin, cross legged on the bed with dozens of scrolls and books surrounding him, either stacked up in piles or scattered all over the bedcovers. The dwarf was hunching, eyes narrowed as he read what Balin distantly recognized as a trade agreement between Erebor and the Blue Mountains from ages ago.

Balin was nearly struck speechless at the spectacles hanging precariously on Thorin’s long nose. He didn’t even know Thorin owned a pair!

Not only that, the king wasn’t put together at all, hair in disarray from spending weeks in bed with his braids tangled and sticking out in odd places. They were all held back by some strip of leather that Balin didn’t know where for the life of him Thorin could’ve possibly found.

There was no decorum from the way Thorin immediately glanced up, looking completely nonchalant over the fact he looked far from perfect. Coming from the paranoid king who hated anyone seeing him be anything less than kingly, it was absolutely  _mindboggling_.

“Ah, Balin.” There was a cautious note in his tone that Balin’s never heard directed at him, bright blue eyes inspecting him before glancing down again to the parchment. “I need your help.”

_What?_

Balin coughed, feeling like his throat was trying to dislodge itself as it turned into a whole coughing fit. Thorin straightened, looking alarmed.

Well of course he did. He nearly died from sickness mere days ago. Balin quickly got a hold of himself and was met with thick furrowed brows looking something resembling  _concern_.

 _Get ahold of yourself,_  Balin inwardly berated. There he went, imagining things he only wished would happen. Mahal, maybe he really  _was_  getting sick if he was starting to hallucinate.

“What may I, ah, help you with my king?” Balin fumbled out, his quick tongue failing him. He hasn’t stuttered this bad since he was a whee scribe!

Thorin stared at him for a long moment before finally shaking his head, looking faintly nonplussed. “I wanted to ask what Erebor’s relations are with our neighbors and the other dwarven kingdoms.”

It was a strange question, full of strange implications, but it wasn’t Balin’s job to question the king. For all he knew, this could be another one of the king’s sudden tests, born from mistrust after one too many assassinations. Who knew what went around in the royal’s mind.

“Well,” Balin started carefully, reverting back to old habits with answers he’s become accustomed to giving. “the Iron Hills are still our greatest ally, as they should be since they are our close kin in relation-”

“Balin.”

The advisor snapped his mouth shut at the sharp tone, the hands clasped behind his back trembling at the familiar anger. He braced himself, only to be perplexed when something like pain twisted Thorin’s features before the king sighed and ran a hand through his silver-lined hair, fingers getting caught in unattended knots.

“Balin,” The king repeated slowly, “Do not take me as a fool. Just from what I’ve read so far in these blasted records, it appears we don’t have  _any_  allies,  _period_.” Thorin looked at Balin straight in the eye and the older dwarf tried not to gasp when old, forgotten fire blazed in Durin blue, full of life and strength that’s long been remiss. “I am not asking you this to witness your diplomatic skills. Speak plainly, and tell me what the state of my kingdom is.”

“I-yes.” It took all of the old dwarf’s composure to not burst into tears right then and there. “Of course my king.”

Because what he saw in front of him was passion, love woven in every word the Durin spoke. There was honesty and an outspoken ask for help, for advice. There was trust belying this request, his face, every carved crevice of Thorin’s entire being.

Years of waiting, years of clinging onto flailing hope, and here was his reward. The only wish Balin’s ever clung to in his old life has miraculously come true.

Thorin Oakenshield, his king and friend, has returned.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin was not an idiot.
> 
> Yes, he was stubborn, prideful, cynical, blunt, and a long list of other faults Balin – _his_ Balin, who wasn’t _afraid_ of him, Mahal above – kept a list of for the occasions when Thorin was being, “more pigheaded and obstinate than usual.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thorin's POV! Yay! Poor guy though, lol. He is one determined dwarf and it's going to be _great._

Thorin was not an idiot.

Yes, he was stubborn, prideful, cynical, blunt, and a long list of other faults Balin – _his_ Balin, who wasn’t _afraid_ of him, Mahal above – kept a list of for the occasions when Thorin was being, “more pigheaded and obstinate than usual.”

He was all these things, but never had Thorin been called witless. He wouldn’t have been able to survive in a prejudiced world with a kingdom depending on him if he had.

Thorin did think for a split second when he awoke – since he just _died_ , he literally parted his last words with his burglar for goodness sake – that he was in the halls of his forefathers when Frerin’s was the first face he saw.

But no. He received no warm welcome, just wary fear and a hidden distaste that was plain in his brother’s stiff speech. Maybe if it had been anyone else they would’ve missed it, but Thorin knew him, no matter how many years it’s been. This was a Frerin who hated him, and only in his worst nightmares would this have been possible. Frerin had always been far kinder and forgiving than Thorin, a better dwarf than him by miles. To think otherwise was a disservice to Frerin’s memory and even Thorin, with his perchance for self-loathing, knew better than to doubt that.

So Thorin did the smart thing and restrained himself from acting like a blubbering fool and hugging the living daylights out of this strange version of his brother. He couldn’t stop himself, however, from staring at the age lines and grey hair that littered Frerin’s Durin dark mane and beard, earning a suspicious glare before Thorin snapped out of it.

The sight of his dead brother having aged well made his heart bloom with bittersweet joy like Bilbo’s garden flowers the hobbit made soliloquies for when speaking of home.

After the dwarf left though, it left Thorin time to take in his situation and try to figure out _what in Mahal was going on._

Thorin only had to peak outside his door a couple hours later to know he was in Erebor. But it wasn’t the empty husk he last saw of it. There was a bustle of guards and well-dressed dwarves right outside, going about their day as if this was all very normal. Even at a glance he could tell their clothes were of the best quality and the armor of the guards were shined and polished. All of it was greatly confounding to Thorin.

Because all of this was Erebor of long past, from memories that felt more like dreams when on the road or huddled up in Ered Luin. The place was a settlement for his people, but never quite home for Thorin like it was for Fíli and Kíli who grew up there. This was the Erebor he missed, the home he craved more than anything.

The very Erebor that should no longer _exist_. Everything about this was _completely impossible_.

He needed information. He needed to _know_.

So he asked one of the servants – _servants_ , great Mahal it’s been _ages_ since Thorin had such a privilege – curating his meals to bring all information of current news. The poor lad had almost wet himself when Thorin quite cordially – Balin would be so proud – asked this of him, instigating a sense of foreboding in Thorin from the way the dwarf practically fled in terror after too quickly acquiescing his request. He left a rather baffled king in his wake in the process, that’s for certain.

As the days passed however, the sense of foreboding only grew as _all_ the servants seemed absolutely _terrified_ of him, especially when Thorin tried to speak to them directly. He watched as they practically tripped over themselves to complete whatever task Thorin vaguely gave them, and _not_ in a good way.

It got so ridiculous that one time, when Thorin had contritely apologized to the server for not finishing his dinner because he was too full – he’s never eaten so much in his life, and this was when people thought he was still _ill_ so they apparently couldn’t feed him too much too early – the servant went on her knees and begged forgiveness for not bringing a proper portion.

Thorin had stared in incredulous horror before very hastily telling the trembling dwarf there was no need for any of this, good Mahal _no_ , and very gently asked if they could keep this whole debacle to themselves to not insult the cooks and if she would like to, you know, finish the meal herself?

It had been a habitual offer. Back in Ered Luin, Thorin feigned many times to have not been hungry just so others wouldn’t feel guilty when he gave them his meal. Hell, it had been an entire system to always have the young eat first before anyone else thought to have supper. For dwarves, the females and the younglings always took priority, for they were coveted more than any amount of jewels dwarves could hope to mine.

So to offer food when he was able was routine by this point in his life. The astonished look on the dwarf-woman’s face however abruptly reminded Thorin where he exactly was.

He was about to scramble for a way to fix this entire fiasco when the servant suddenly started _crying_ of all things, _blessing_ him like he did something amazing. The constant murmuring of thank yous and bows had Thorin flushing horribly at the back of his thick neck before managing to corral her out of the room.

At least she seemed to have taken his words to heart because nobody seemed to know about the incident, for which he was glad.

Still, it didn’t change the fact that everything about this Erebor was completely nonsensical.

So pushing aside that odd incident, Thorin put all his focus in figuring out his situation, resolved in solving this mystery. And Mahal, what a discovery it was.

Smaug never attacked Erebor. Thorin stilled in place and reeled at what was deemed as old history.

His people never experienced starvation, never wandered Middle-Earth with their pride trampled on by the other races. He’s been King under the Mountain for apparently over a century and his people never lost their home. Thorin’s quest was obsolete. No Gandalf, no Company, no Bilbo. It was unneeded, all the hardship Thorin went through erased like it never happened.

Thorin didn’t know quite how to feel about that. His struggles formed the dwarf he was today, made him a king of no mountain but still the ruler of many. He didn’t know enough about this strange place if he preferred this came-true scenario, or the hard life he’d known and lost.

His fingers became eager when flipping the pages after that, hungry to learn more and fill in the blanks.

The Battle of Moria still happened and Thorin became king the same way he did before, other than the devastating confirmation his father died in battle alongside his grandfather instead of becoming missing. He didn’t know whether to be relieved Thraín was given a proper stone burial and they actually had a body, or losing that tiny glimmer of hope Thorin had held for his father’s survival.

Like everything in his long, arduous life though, Thorin kept going.

There was shocking lack of communication between Erebor and the rest of the world according to his finds. Almost all the treaties and documents came from decades back, not renewed or even officially confirmed as if every agreement was tentative at best.

Staring at the evidence before him, Thorin wanted more than anything to shake this other world’s king and demand what in Mahal he was thinking allowing any of this to pass.

His anger only worsened when Balin appeared and started to form a picture for him. It wasn’t a pretty one.

According to Balin, Erebor didn’t really have _allies_ so much as a few trade agreements between the Iron Hills and shockingly _Lake-town_.

Lake-town, because apparently after Smaug’s attack, Erebor had refused to aid Dale in the aftermath and the men had no choice but to rebuild elsewhere. From the sound of it, Erebor took advantage once the men got some footing, trading and selling at ludicrous prices.

It was less of an equal agreement and more of an extortion from how Thorin’s hearing it. For food and whatever Lake-town could provide, which wasn’t much. And even if Lake-town did benefit from whatever the dwarven kingdom gave them, Thorin knew without doubt that if the Master still existed in this world, the people were still suffering and not receiving their due.

Balin didn’t actually _say_ any of this, but Thorin could read between the lines and was thoroughly horrified indeed. Especially since Balin didn’t seem aware of what kind of ruler Lake-town had. It really made Thorin wonder who actually went down there to trade with the men. It wouldn’t surprise him one bit if the Master never bothered to show unless the dwarven king himself would go down there to speak with him. It sounded exactly like something the pompous, greedy man would do from what Thorin could tell.

It made Thorin sick at the thought this Thorin committed the same act Thranduil did when the dwarves of Erebor came to the elf king starving and in need of help before turning them away. So many died due to his refusal and this was why Thorin would never forgive the elf, more than his inaction in the face of Smaug. To think Thorin was capable of doing the same to the people of Dale almost made Thorin vomit right then and there in front of the king’s advisor.

As for the Iron Hills, well, it seemed the only reason why they bothered to trade with Erebor at all was because of Dís and Frerin. Thorin knew Dáin was the type to give his respect to those who earned it, and this world’s Thorin clearly was undeserving of it. Honestly, Thorin couldn’t blame him one bit and only felt gratitude over the fact Dáin cared enough about his other kin to still remain in contact with them.

Despite Erebor’s riches and whatever they could offer, the fact their ‘alliances’ were shaky and fragile spoke volumes over what kind of leader this world’s King under the Mountain was.

It was almost tempting to wish for death again when listening to how terrible this Thorin apparently was, how deserving of such hate he was in this life.

With anyone else, this would break any person’s spirit, to give up and think to themselves this was a hell they couldn’t escape.

But this was Thorin Oakenshield.

Because the first conclusion Thorin came up with was this must be his way to redeem himself. He failed in his last life, leading his Company to their doom and falling to gold sickness when he swore he wouldn’t. His nephews who he loved like his own sons were killed in front of him, and he left behind a weeping hobbit who proved to be the truest friend any race would be blessed to have. One who he nearly killed and lost in his madness because he had valued gold over home like a right fool.

Thorin would do better this time. He would remember the lessons those much wiser than him have taught, instill it in his very bones until he could be the king Erebor, his Company, Bilbo deserved.

Death wasn’t the end, but a new beginning.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What do you mean the king is missing?” Dwalin growled, trying to remain stoic in this rather ridiculous disaster he found himself in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s Dwalin! Yay! This is the longest snippet yet and I kind of want to cry. I did not mean for this to happen. Dwalin was being so angsty and funny that I just had to extrapolate lol. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy!

“What do you mean the king is missing?” Dwalin growled, trying to remain stoic in this rather ridiculous disaster he found himself in.

He almost pitied the quaking dwarf in front of him if it hadn’t been for the fact it was the fault of his guards they allowed something like this to happen in the first place. Though Dwalin set their schedules, they were supposed to remain watchful and  _do their damn jobs right._

The fact of the matter was, Dwalin was in charge of guarding said king, making sure the royal was on his way to full health from his near death. He was supposed to keep the vulnerably positioned ruler of Erebor in his room, resting, and not let anyone in or out.

Which apparently was too hard of a task for his dwarves. Dwalin barely held back his urge to curse. Damn the sense of propriety Balin installed in him as a lad.

The intimidated smaller dwarf swallowed hard before he spoke, shaking in his boots. “The King was absent from his room when we checked ten minutes ago. We’re guessing he must’ve slipped out in between the rotations. And um,” the dwarf held out a piece of parchment to the Head Guardsman. “we also found this on the bed.”

The balding dwarf snatched it up and unrolled it, befuddled. A note? Was this an escape or a ransom? None of this was making a lick of sense.

Dwalin’s befuddlement only grew when it became clear it was King Thorin who wrote the message, simply stating he was going to  _“make his rounds”._  That he would be back in a few hours and not to worry.

What in the actual fuck.

This was absolute  _nonsense_. “Making rounds” was the duty of the guards. It meant inspecting and making sure everything was in running order, helping citizens and enforcing the law if needed. It was a maintenance task, something only low-class guards was committed to doing.

Thorin hasn’t done rounds since he was a damn  _prince_. Hell, even then the Durin had deemed it unnecessary after the novelty wore off. The young dwarf had snorted, declaring that as long as Dwalin was in charge, no one could pick their noses without the captain in training knowing about it.

At the time, Dwalin had scowled to hide how secretly pleased he was by this teasing compliment, his best friend smirking when catching the look on his face.

But that was before. This was now.

The idea of Thorin going out and keeping a closer eye to the populace was beyond nerve-wracking. Thorin had a foul enough temper as it was, it was bound to be triggered if he mingled with the “commoners.”

Mahal, the king was a right prick.

The reminder helped dismiss the memory of Balin coming home a few days ago, glowing with happiness in a way he hasn’t in decades, crying out, “Dwalin, Thorin’s back!  _Our Thorin is back!”_  The old dwarf had shaken him by the shoulders, laughing so freely and openly that Dwalin could do nothing but stare at the sight.

“You’re barking mad.” Dwalin had marveled. His comment didn’t even dent the advisor’s mood, too busy whooping –  _whooping!_  – in wild elation as if Durin Day has come early.

“I knew it.” Balin’s eyes were shining with so many emotions, his sensibility tossed in the wind in favor of faith and wonder. “I don’t know how this happened, but Thorin’s changed. Brother, our king has returned!”

In the face of such ecstasy, Dwalin couldn’t bring himself to argue back like he usually did. He was unwilling to crush his brother’s spirits that were higher than mountains at this point.

No, this was just another sign of the king making life more difficult for poor Dwalin, spitting at his efforts to protect the dwarf’s overpompous hide. There was nothing more to it than that.

Dwalin took in a deep breath and shoved the message in his pocket before staring down the guard with sharp, stern eyes. It gave him some petty pleasure to see the lad jump from fright.

“Gather a few of the guards and spread out, and only those who can keep their mouths shut. It’ll be all on our heads if anybody finds out about this so we need to be discreet. Understood?”

“Yes sir!” the dwarf immediately replied. There was a brief moment of hesitation before he rather bravely asked, “What about you sir?”

“I’m going alone,” Dwalin grunted and started down the hallways in impatient strides. He didn’t bother to look behind him to know the dwarf wasn’t following. “It’ll be quicker. So hurry up and stop dallying! We have a lot of ground to cover.”

He wasn’t exaggerating. Erebor was  _enormous_ , split up by districts that were named after minerals. It was spread out with the higher quality gems like Jade or Platinum more inward and closer to the palace, while the outer rim held the poorer districts like Quartz, consisting of dwarves getting the lowest jobs like sanitation and working in the more dangerous mines.

There was a class division among them and it all depended on one’s blood, reputation, and occupation. It was just the way of things and it’s only grown worse as the years passed with Thorin being the kind of king he was.

It boiled Dwalin’s blood. Thorin didn’t care about the rest of his people outside the rich and turned a blind eye to the poison spreading among his kingdom. More and more the less-standing citizens were taking the brunt of absurd taxation and having no one to support them. They were belittled by their ‘upstanding’ peers and full of resentment because of it. No one trusted the one who wore the crown. No one trusted the King under the Mountain.

Hearing all this, overseeing these people day in and day out, how could Dwalin  _not_  be cynical? How could he think their king was capable of turning all this around after causing so much pain due to his cold apathy?

No, better to be prepared for the worst as always instead of hoping for something better. In this matter, Dwalin was the sane one between the two brothers. He couldn’t afford to believe anything else.

So he looked for the wayward royal with a soldier’s composure, hours passing faster than a dwarf could finish his ale in a drinking contest. He was close to swearing aloud with the worst curses he knew in Khuzdul when his eyes spotted familiar raven hair streamlined with silver from afar.

Dwalin couldn’t even blame himself for almost missing the king. Surrounded by the activity of Erebor’s marketplace, no one was paying the dwarf much attention. Thorin blended into the backdrop of Erebor easily, the lack of ceremony of his appearance causing others to remain oblivious of their ruler’s presence.

Not only that, Thorin was surprisingly dressed in a far more practical fashion than Dwalin’s ever seen from him. Even from afar, Dwalin could tell that while the clothes were of fine material, nothing about it screamed royalty. It was of simple design, the tunic dark blue and his belt made of leather lacking any decorative jewels. His boots were sturdy and made more for hiking outdoors as far as Dwalin could tell.

He looked so, so  _unassuming_. By Mahal,  _humble_  even. The king looked more like a well to do merchant than a ruler of a kingdom!

Dumbstruck, it took a while before Dwalin finally noticed the king wasn’t alone and was quietly talking to a small  _child, what_. One who seemed wholly unafraid and was happily babbling to the ruler of Erebor.

Just when it couldn’t get any more shocking, the king then proceeded to  _bend down on one knee_ , face turned so Dwalin could glimpse the attentive look on the dwarf’s face, face smooth without a hint of irritation.

Dwalin looked upwards, half-expecting flying goats. Maybe he had drunk one too many pints and all of this was a very lucid dream.

Nope. Nothing there.

He looked back at the scene just in time to catch Thorin ducking his head with his shoulders shaking. Dwalin took a step forward, immediately alarmed at the idea of Thorin unleashing his anger on the poor youngling before realizing as Thorin looked up that the dwarf had been laughing.  _Laughing_.

The quick show of teeth and the upward tilt of his mouth said it all.

Dwalin swallowed hard at the sight. His heart sped up and he felt himself shaking like he hasn’t in years. Balin’s words were at the forefront of his mind and despite himself, Dwalin found himself wondering.

What if?  _What if?_

As if hearing Dwalin’s torn thoughts, Thorin’s eyes flickered to the side before immediately focusing on the guard. Blue eyes that glinted among the crowd of people lit up and to Dwalin’s confusion, Thorin jerked his head in a very clear gesture to come over.

Still reeling, Dwalin could do nothing but follow this silent command, everything else fading away at the periphery of his viewpoint. Thorin stood up, one hand grasped by the dwarven child’s who was looking at the coming dwarf with wide eyes. Dwalin noted how the lad’s grip tightened, a sign of nervousness when seeing him.

Dwalin nearly burst out in hysterical laughter. Oh, if the child only knew who he was seeking protection to.

What a day this was.

“Dwalin,” Thorin said his namely warmly like he hadn’t besmirched and ignored him for decades after their fight and last real interaction.

“Your Hi-.” Dwalin nearly bit his tongue to stop himself, halting in his half-aborted motion to bend his back into an unwilling bow. He'd almost forgotten about the child who would no doubt blab about the king's identity, which would make a right mess of things.

Dwalin must've revealed something in his slip because the warmth was fading and something almost like dismay twisted Thorin's features before gone the next moment like it had never been there.

But Dwalin knew what he saw. And what he saw didn’t make any sense.

As if aiming to confuse the head guard even further, Thorin looked down to the child again and confidently introduced, “This is Dwalin, the head of the guards.”

The child shuffled his feet, clearly agitated. Sensing this – and where in Mahal’s name did Thorin learn how to deal with younglings and be sensitive enough to pick up others emotional state? – Thorin crouched down again, heedless of Dwalin’s presence. Tempered surety was in every line of his body and the child instinctively relaxed without knowing it. Dwalin had no idea what to make of that.

“He is trustworthy, I promise you. And he can help us find your mother.” Thorin said and the world just stopped for poor old Dwalin. The words  _he is trustworthy_  looped in the guard’s head and never in his life did he want a drink more than right at this very second. Everything was happening so fast. He was completely lost on what was happening right now.

And that word.  _Us._  So quickly including himself in this menial task. Like there was nothing Thorin would like better than to search for the errant child’s mother, a foregone conclusion that Thorin would do everything in his power to help.

The child caught that word too and immediately perked up.

“You’ll still help me?” the youngling said hopefully.

“Of course,” Thorin replied, solemn. There was a twinkle in his eye. “My honor commands it.”

Dwalin tried not to make any strangling noises at that and was failing. Miserably.

It earned two pairs of bemused gazes before Dwalin cleared his throat and shook his head as if to shake away the absolute absurdity of the conversation in front of him.

“Where did you last see your mother lad?” Dwalin managed to get out, desperately trying to concentrate on anything other than the dwarf close to making Dwalin lose his mind.  _Get a damn grip you old stonehead!_

The child hesitated before answering, “By-by the Mercury district.”

A rock was starting to plummet in Dwalin’s chest.

“Is that where you live?”

“Yes.”

_Fuck._

That was too close to the Quartz district. With Thorin acting so odd, Dwalin couldn’t predict how Thorin would react facing such a degenerative place where no royal would dare to step foot. Less than fifteen minutes ago, the guard would’ve bet all the coins in Erebor that the king would first jump off a cliff than do such a thing.

Now though...

Well, now Dwalin wasn’t so sure. The uncertainty was slowly killing the warrior’s nerves. He was almost tempted to think this was all a conducted game the king created just to take sadistic pleasure in seeing Dwalin panic and squirm.

But no, Dwalin thought with bitterness. The king didn’t care enough about one guard to make the effort to torture him. He was  _nothing_.

_He is trustworthy. My honor commands it._

Dwalin gritted his teeth and finally fully faced the king head on. Thorin finally stood up straight in response, eyebrows raised as if  _Dwalin_  was the one acting strangely. It made him want to pick up the king like a doll and shake him.

He couldn’t exactly dismiss the king to go back to his room while doing this task himself. And Thorin had given his word, no matter how little worth it actually was. So Dwalin had no choice but to bring Thorin and just hope for the best.

 _Hope_. Mahal, that word has been haunting Dwalin as of late. He could almost hear Balin exclaiming this was proof, that Thorin was different now.

Dwalin shoved it all aside. He was doing his duty and nothing more. There was no room in his heart for anything else.

“Follow me."

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as tumblr snippets so here you go! Check it out if you like!
> 
> http://aerialflight.tumblr.com/tagged/a_merrier_place


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